


All the king's men

by kameo_chan



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 01:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kameo_chan/pseuds/kameo_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for a prompt on the K!Meme: "Fenris' hair is too long, and it needs cutting." Hawke obliges after having a little fun first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the king's men

**Author's Note:**

> All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put ~~Humpty Dumpty~~ Fenris together again.
> 
> Until Hawke came along, that is.

"I take it no one ever advised you that playing with shears is a really bad idea?"

Fenris looked up from the book he was currently reading - he'd recently made enough progress to start on some of the old Tevinter texts that littered Hawke's illustrious bookcases - and frowned.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, eyes flicking back to the oddly shaped letters of his former homeland and then up to Hawke again. He hated being interrupted, especially when it came to things he found he liked doing, like reading or disemboweling slavers or hounding that abominable arse of a mage Hawke called friend.

Hawke gave him a cheeky shrug and tapped a finger against his chin in mock contemplation. "Oh, I don't know. Possibly the abortion that is your hair, although it might also apply to your cuirass."

Fenris reached a hand up to his hair, running slender fingers through the fine white strands. "What's wrong with my hair?" he asked testily and then frowned some more when Hawke gave him one of those soft, slow smiles he was so often wont to deal out. Fenris felt on edge whenever he saw that smile; it was the kind of smile he'd only ever seen Hawke give his mother - and sometimes, when the officious little whelp was around, Carver.

"I'm just joking," Hawke said and knelt in front of him, reaching up to twine his hand with Fenris' own. "It's just that it always looks a little unkempt, is all." Fenris tried hard to swallow around the lump in his throat as Hawke's eyes met his.

"Do you cut it yourself, I wonder? Fenris?" He couldn't help leaning into Hawke's touch, not even when he tried hating himself for it.

"I remember, back in Tevinter. I was very young," Fenris began, surprised at how easily the words seemed to come whenever Hawke was around. "Mother had a rare day off and Varania and I... We were playing, and somehow, I'd managed to get honey in my hair. It was dry and stone hard by the time we got back to the house and Mother scolded me, I think."

"Go on," Hawke whispered, apparently fascinated, and Fenris gave him a small quirk of the lips as a sign of thanks.

"Well, there wasn't much to do about it, and so she'd asked the Master if she could borrow one of the shearing combs. She must have been a favourite, because I remember her smiling when she returned. It was a pretty silver thing, and very, very sharp. That was the last time anyone had ever cut my hair, apart from myself, as far as I know."

"It was always blood and battle and the stench of death and these Maker-forsaken markings afterward. I did what I could, but ponds and daggers aren't exactly the proper tools for barbering."

"Well, in that case, I think you did a pretty damn decent job," Hawke said with a grin. Fenris shook his head, reveling in the way that the palm of Hawke's hand slid against his scalp.

"How do you do it?" he asked, and Hawke gave him a bemused look. "How do you always find a way to turn my life upside down and still make me think that I'm the luckiest elf alive?"

"Oh, a bit of charm and a dash of handsomeness go a long way. But mostly, it's the spells I cast on you once I'm sure you're asleep enough not to phase a hand through my head," Hawke replied, the very picture of sincerity.

"It's not your head you should be worried about," Fenris quipped. "Not the one you think with, at any rate." It was strange and almost surreal to be able to talk so blithely about the very thing that still curdled his belly in a sour knot of hatred. Hawke was as much a mage as that idiot, Anders, after all. And yet, when Fenris risked another quick peek at the man kneeling before him, he felt none of the obsessive hatred and disgust he harbored for other magic users.

"I love you," he said, and felt a tinge of pride and satisfaction color his mood as Hawke's eyes first widened and then boggled.

"What? What was that just now?" Hawke asked, and for the briefest of moments, Fenris imagined that it was Danarius kneeling here before him, demanding things of him again. But it wasn't. This was Hawke trying to coax him into another soppy confession; not the man who had stripped him of everything and left the naked bones of his old life for the rats to gnaw on.

"I said, you can cut it, if you like," Fenris stated loudly, and turned back to his book. He struggled for a minute to adjust to the sprawling, cursive script and then marked his place with a fingertip.

Hawke was still on the floor in front of him, and had resorted to dirty tricks to get his way. "And no, Messere Hawke, puppy eyes only work when they're used against lecherous mages."

"As opposed to tightly-wound elves who love riding said lecherous mages with abandon, all the while begging for more? Right, I forgot that one." Fenris raised an imperious eyebrow at Hawke.

"Either you can quiet down and do something about the so-called offense that is my hair, or you can keep the bed to yourself for the next month. Your choice."

Hawke looked as though he was in one of Aveline's infamous choke-holds. "But - but you can't do that!" he protested and slid his hand down to cup Fenris' neck. Fenris shivered at the touch - it conjured up memories of nights spent clutching desperately at this very hand; nights spent wishing that all he'd ever known was Hawke and his skilled touch and his heart that was always big enough for one more stray.

"I can and I will. I've already spoken to Bodahn." Hawke gave him a shrewd, piercing stare and then heaved a sigh that sounded as though it carried the weight of the world.

"Fine. I'll go fetch the shearing comb. Stay right there. If you move, I'll have Aveline set the Guard on you. Twenty sovereigns for the one who can hunt down the magical fisting elf."

"I'm not magical, and I hope that in that case, Aveline is prepared to arrange for a mass funeral," Fenris said easily as Hawke rose.

"I love you too," Hawke said and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before leaving Fenris to his reading again.


End file.
